


Fear of Heights

by temporalDecay



Series: Tumblr Porn Prompt Fics [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cloaca, Impregnation, M/M, Nook Eating, Tentabulges, Xeno, implied egg laying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/pseuds/temporalDecay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For my tumblr porn drive.</p><p><em>Karkat and Eridan, wherein highbloods are bird people instead of fish people.</em> -- Anon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Heights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous @ tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Anonymous+%40+tumblr).



You’ve never seen a skydweller from up close before. 

You knew, intellectually, that given the color of Eridan’s obnoxiously endearing text, he had to be one, but it just… it didn’t seem to matter. Now there he is, standing—no, _perching_ on the edge of your roof, body tilted forward regally and dark purple plumage gleaming lusciously in the moonlight. You stand by the doorway a moment longer, just taking in the sight. He’s larger than you, but you expected that – _everyone_ is larger than you, really, it's somewhat infuriating. No, what keeps catching your attention is the way he’s so… troll-like, and yet not. You want to kick yourself for the thought. Of course he’s a troll, obviously, but it’s the way his limbs curl that makes your head spin. His feet are clawed and large, much larger than yours, with cruel looking talons delicately lacquered violet at the tip and adorned with golden rings at the… ankle? Aside the different angle, they melt up into his legs just like yours do, though. His chest is wide and ever so slightly bulging, as if he had breasts. But the truly magnificent thing is his wings. Feathers as long as you’re tall, meticulously groomed and falling off the side of his arms like violet silk. He can fly, with those things. There’s something in your pan that twitches for something shapeless and unnamed, yearning. He can fly, as easily as you can run and jump, and there’s no limit where he may go. You stare for a moment longer, studying the rich brocade of his clothes: stripped shorts in blue and purple, and a half-hearted attempt of a shirt in black with sign emblazoned in it. In anyone else, you’d think those clothes, so short and revealing, would be stupid, but not on him. On him they’re just another nod to his station, necessities to not impede the most important function of his anatomy. 

Then the moment passes and you gather your wits, throwing your shoulders back and walking into the roof. 

“Eridan?” 

His entire expression lights up as he sees you, and the pity throbbing in your veins does away with most of the awkwardness lingering. It’s Eridan. He’s been persistently courting you for three sweeps now, and you have known him for even longer. The way his lips pull back into a smile is exactly what you always thought it’d look. It suits him, just like his feathers and his horns and the ridiculous stripe of violet in his hair, stretching down his spine into his feathers and the pattern on them. 

“No, the fucking Heiress,” he snaps, eyes glinting and grin unbearable, as he hops down onto the roof proper with a strange sort of grace. “Do you receive many skydwellers on your roof, Kar?” 

He’s even _larger_ from up close. Actual, honest to god adult _large_. You’re still desperately waiting for a growth spurt that seems more and more unlikely with each perigee. But you keep hope. Instead of being intimidated by the sheer bulk of him, you find yourself wanting to laugh. You master the impulse and smirk instead, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Only the most fucking obnoxious ones,” you snap, trying to hide a smile as he laughs in delight. “C’mon, featherbutt, there’s—“ 

You turn to leave, but before you can give a step, his arms are around you. You take a sharp breath as his body closes in on yours, but it’s not what you were expecting. You don’t know what you were expecting, really, except that he’s light and warm and _soft_. He makes a soft, chirping sound as he folds his entire body around you, pressing you close. 

“Thank you,” he says, and the way he sounds so sincere does unlawful things to your knees. 

“’m gonna ruffle your feathers,” you mutter, trying very halfheartedly to get out of his hold. 

The world stops moving when he presses a soft kiss to the underside of your jaw. 

“Promise?” 

You yell at him for that, as soon as you gather your wits back to you. You yell and threaten and hiss and spit as you storm back to your block. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t care, the way he’s grinning smugly, ducking the doorway and hunching forward in the hallway. If you didn’t pity him as much as you do, you’d threaten to tear off those goddamn feathers with your own hands. 

You’re so preoccupied with him and his grins and the stupidly ridiculous… _avian_ way he tilts his head at this and that inside your block that you almost forget about dinner. 

Almost. 

  


* * *

  


He looks good, sprawled in that corner of your respiteblock. He shouldn’t, really. With the gold on his fingers and his legs and the gold bands decorating the bases of his horns, there’s nowhere he should look worse than the awkward nest of blankets and pillows you spent half a perigee gathering explicitly for this meeting. But he looks so good, legs lightly parted and arms resting back on the rim of the nest-like mess you made, feathers falling down gently and delicately, both framing his body and covering most of it. You remember the feeling of them against the back of your neck. You shiver, not just because you’re naked and he’s as naked as he can be, and you’re _doing_ this. You really are. 

“I’ve never—“ 

“Me neither,” he interrupts, smiling at you a little uncertainty. “So maybe we can just… figure out what feels good?” He stretches a hand, offering. “Maybe?” 

You have the strangest urge to turn around and run. You ignore it, and instead step forward, taking his hand and letting him tug you down into his body. You shiver violently at the feeling of feathers against your bare skin. He’s solid under the fluff, though, for all there’s a lot more fluff than you’d expected. He teaches you how to comb your claws through the feathers, flattening them down enough you can see the lines of his body underneath. You take his hands and show him the bits and pieces of you that make you shiver when he touches them. You study the muscles on his chest and his shoulders and he rubs your grubleg scars and the dip of your spine. You’re half drunk on the feel-good hormones in your blood, lying snuggly against him, when he takes your hand and slowly guides it down to the dip between his legs. You’re blushing bright and babbling on about nothing in particular, probably about something stupid, but your voice rises in pitch alarmingly when your fingers find moist feathers and the edge of— 

“It’s okay, Kar,” he says, doing the chirpy sound again, and you moan before you can help yourself, as he guides you until you’ve got a finger inside. “It’s like a nook.” 

“ _Like_ means it’s _not_ the same, you fucktastic panrotten disaster,” you snap, fingers twitching in annoyance, but you fall quiet as he arches at the sensation. He doesn’t have a bulge and that’s the weirdest fucking thing, beyond the feathers and the talons and the little sounds that escape his throat as you feel out his insides. “…you sure?” 

“…if you want,” he says after a moment, significantly looking at your groin. You’ve been trying to ignore the writhing between your legs, because it’s about as disgustingly red as the swill in your veins. “I mean, I just flew half the planet fo—“ 

You rub your finger against the walls of his… you’re not even sure what it _is_. But the more you touch it, the more he writhes and twists and messes up his feathers and stops talking. You watch him raise a leg to give you better access, fingers twitching and talons gleaming as his muscles tense and relax with your touch. It _looks_ like your nook, in theory, and it feels like it, too, wet and flexible and _tight_. You have a primal, irrational urge to stick your bulge in there, except you’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to. Surely he wouldn’t want to risk having your ridiculous mutant genes mixing with his. He says he wants you for his matesprit, has been telling you for sweeps, and you adore him for all he’s a ridiculous jerk, but skydweller quadrants are expected to actually produce eggs with them. They have the skies and their broods to make them stand above the rest of trollkind. Surely, someone like you, who technically shouldn’t even be alive, is not allowed to mar that. 

You cry out sharply when his tongue slides against the opening of your nook. You feel your back arch and tense as he slides his tongue in, and that’s terrible and marvelous and you wish he’d stop and you wish he’d never ever stop. You roll your hips back against him, not daring to look back and see the rivulets of cherry red lubrication sliding down his mouth and his chin, because you feel like you’re going to explode and you’re so wet it might be a sin. It has to be. Nothing should feel this good. 

Then he tugs at your bulge, kissing your wet folds one last time, before pulling away with a teasing lick. 

“Less thinking, Kar,” he says, smug and arrogant and you want to punch him, except not really because he’s breathing all over your groin and his tongue feels _amazing_. “More fucking.” 

“Don’t be such a fucking bossy jerk,” you snap, shoving your fingers into him without thinking. 

He _trills_. 

His feathers twitch in a riffle as he shakes. You’re so turned on you _ache_. Or at least that’s what you think, before he starts to beg. Your doubts and concerns slowly melt away as his voice dissolves into more of that desperate sound. Then you’re shifting about, trying to find the right angle with his legs and your hips, and you ignore those talons that could crush your skull like it’s made of wet sand. You gather all your wits and use them to coax your bulge against his entrance, hesitating. Waiting for him to change his mind. You proceed to lose all your wits the moment you slide in, air escaping you as he clenches, cold and wet and _tight_. You last the most memorable ten seconds of your life, before you commit the mistake of looking at his face and find him staring at you in adoration. 

You gush out bright, obscene red everywhere, and fall into his arms sobbing like a wiggler. 

  


* * *

  


He’s still there the next night, curled around you like a suffocating blanket of feathers that’s not quite as effective against day terrors as sopor. 

He’s still there the night after that. 

And the one after that. 

In fact, he’s still there when he’s so very clearly heavy with brood you dare not fuck him anymore. He teaches you how to groom his feathers and file his talons, and you’d feel like a trained slave if you didn’t catch sight of his distended belly every now and then. So you rant and bitch and tend to him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He’s fucking dumb and arrogant and exasperating, and you dearly wish he’d never have to leave. 

In silence, you wait for the results of mixing the highest of the high with the lowest of the low, and allow yourself just the tiniest sliver of hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> ...I really did go all out with the xeno in this, didn't I? Whoops.


End file.
